


Orange Roughy

by amaradangeli



Series: We Made It [16]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Cooking, Episode: s06e06 Abyss (Stargate), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: It was a testament to how far they’d come in their relationship – both the romantic one and the platonic – that she was willing to show this weakness to him.





	Orange Roughy

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Samantha-Carter-is-my-muse.
> 
> Beta by Fems.

She showed up with Orange Roughy wrapped in paper he identified as being from Seattle Fish Company all the way up in Denver. And given the way they both felt about sustainable seafood, this was a splurge he knew was part and parcel of what he'd just been through at the hands of Ba'al. It was her way of apologizing, in a way, for her part in the whole mess – because had she not asked him to take the damned snake he never would have ended up there in the first place.

She was nervous, he could tell, and he knew it had to do with how he might react to her, this first time he was seeing her alone since the snaking and subsequent torture.

"Sam," he said, watching her shoulders stiffen and her back tighten to ram-rod straight. Turned away from him as she was at the kitchen counter messing with the fish, he couldn't see her face, but he knew, because he knew her, that her eyes were closed, hiding pain.

He stepped up behind her, let her feel his body heat through their clothes, even though that wasn't  the way he liked to share with her. She relaxed minutely. She always seemed to melt into him and he was disappointed when her body didn't relax and fit against his. "Sam," he said again, placing his hand on her shoulder, right at that place where it became her neck. He could feel the tension in the tendons there.

She was hiding from him, inside herself, right there in front of him. That pained him more than anything Ba'al ever could have done to him.

He dropped his lips to her other shoulder, pressed a kiss against the cotton of her t-shirt, hard enough she'd be able to feel the gesture on her skin. She sighed. He wound his arms around her and pressed his hands flat against her, one on her diaphragm, the other inching up between her breasts. His touch wasn't meant to be sexual or to titillate but to be grounding. She leaned back into him just a little, until her weight was back on her heels and her shoulder blades pressed into his chest. That was better, that was what he wanted.

"It's okay," he said.

She shuddered and he could feel it as it shook his body from all their points of connection. "It's not okay," she said on a breathy exhale that was coated in tears.

He stepped around her until he was between her and the counter and raised his hands to cradle her face. Her eyes were bright, full of water, and rimmed red like she was doing everything she could to keep from crying. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers  tightly at first and then backing off  to something gentle so he could feel the nuances of her soft skin. When he lifted his mouth from hers he could see she'd lost the battle with her tears, "It's okay," he reiterated. "I’m fine."

She opened her mouth to speak and he knew her well enough to see the war within her while she struggled with the dichotomy of "it's all my fault" and "no, it isn't".

He beat her to the words. "It happened. And it's not anybody's fault, it was just a bad series of events."

"You're not even going to blame the Tok'ra?"

"They didn't know. And Sam, I understand it. If it had been you, I'd have gone back for you, no matter what the consequences might have been. I understand." Nothing in the world could have stopped him, not the torture – and he knew of torture – not anything. And, had the whole situation been reversed, if it meant he'd had to subject someone else's body to potential horror, well, he couldn't promise her that he wouldn't have done it to get to her.

As it turned out, he didn't need to say that to her anyway. He could see in her eyes that she knew. She wasn't completely comfortable with it, but she knew. She took the half step into him and pressed her body against his, she fit her feet between his and left them pressed together from chest to knees.

He finally felt like he was home, with his arms wrapped around her and her breath on his neck. And then he realized she was shaking, her body wracked with silent sobs. "Hey," he said, rubbing his hands up and down her back, "it's okay. It's over now. I'm here. It's okay."

It was a testament to how far they’d come in their relationship – both the romantic one and the platonic – that she was willing to show this weakness to him. And it warmed his heart that she felt safe enough to let go, to break down, to lean in. Not that he wanted her to hurt to prove something to him, but if there was a cloud, there was also a silver lining.

Her arms wound around him and she gripped him so tightly he could feel the pressure she exerted across his ribs hinder his ability to take a full, deep breath.

He tangled his fingers into the hair at the back of her head and steered her face to his. She couldn't breathe properly for the crying so he didn't kiss her mouth. But he pressed kisses to her forehead, to her cheeks, to the lids of her fallen closed eyes. "It's okay," he whispered again, against her skin.

He was fine, yes, but mostly, it was okay for her to pour out her emotions, to get them off her chest, to share them with him. It had been too much, he knew, to have lost Daniel and then to have thought she lost him. He wasn't sure exactly how long he held her, he just knew that it took a while for the desperation in her hold to turn into something that felt more natural.

"Why don't you pour us some wine? I'll cook dinner."

It felt normal to move around the kitchen as she uncorked a bottle of the red wine they'd come to keep on hand.

Jack used the making of the marinade for the fish as an opportunity to collect himself. He was constantly surprised by the depth of her feelings. He'd always known she was an extraordinary woman, but she was also extraordinary of heart.

He mixed orange juice, soy sauce, olive oil and lemon juice in a shallow dish and set the fish fillets in to soak up the flavors. She handed him a glass of wine after he washed and dried his hands.

"I'm--" she started.

He cut her off immediately, knowing what she was going to say and not wanting her to say it, "No," he said forcefully, "don't apologize for wanting me alive so badly you'd ask that of me. Don't apologize for what happened, because it's not your fault. Don't apologize, Sam."

"But--"

"No," he said gently, a small smile on his face, "because I understand. I know."

"You would have asked the same of me?"

"I don't know." And he didn't. Turn her into a Tok'ra? Maybe. If he could figure out a way to stay with her. "But I do know, if the situation had been reversed and it had been you that had..." He couldn't even finish having the thought, let alone finish his sentence. "I know how you feel. Because I'd be feeling it too."

He got broccoli out of the vegetable bin in the refrigerator in part because he needed a moment to collect himself, to chase away the thought of her being tortured at the hands of Ba'al. He used the time it took to cut it up and to put it in the oven to roast to banish the thought from his head. He watched her watch him and sip her wine.

"You're sure you don't blame me?"

"Would you blame me if the situations were reversed?" He asked her, already knowing the answer.

"Of course not."

"Then why is it so hard to believe that I don't blame you?"

"Because I know how you feel about the Tok'ra!"

"Sam," he said, setting down an avocado and tomato he'd just retrieved from the fruit bowl, "This isn't about the Tok'ra, it's not about Ba'al, it's about me and you. And how nothing you could ask me to do for you would be asking to much. You can't go too far, Sam, because there's no limit. None."

Her breath caught, but she nodded.

He searched her eyes for understanding and saw her feelings in stark relief.

He made a salad with the fruits in front of him. He coated the fish in breadcrumbs and pan fried it to an even, golden brown. And by the time he set a plate in front of her at the dining room table, she looked more like herself than she had since he'd come home.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he was okay with what had happened to him, but he'd accepted it, he'd lived through it, and more to the point, he understood the impetus that had caused it. Because yes, if it had been Sam who had been lost to him, he'd have moved hell and earth, he'd have risked more of Ba'al's torture, to get back to her.

When she'd put the last bite of her dinner in her mouth, she reached across the table to him. He reached for her right back and weaved their fingers together. "There's no  limit for me, either," she told him. It pained him to think of what she was willing to endure for him. But he understood, again, he understood.

"The limit needs to be death, Sam, because it would kill me if..."

"I can't promise you that. Not in our line of work, you know I can't."

She was right. It was highly possible that one or the other of them would die. Not that he wouldn't do everything in his power to make sure that didn't happen. Because if he outlived her... he didn't even want to think about it. He'd survived worse, he knew, intellectually, he could survive that, too. But just the thought made his heart clench painfully.

"Don't think about it," she advised softly.

That, he thought, was good advice. He couldn't guarantee life for either one of them. But he could guarantee that he'd do anything for her, the proof was in the snaking.

"You mean everything to me," he told her sincerely. "And I need you." It was a greater admission than love, one that left him feeling much more vulnerable. But he found that there wasn't much fear in being vulnerable with her.

"I need you too," she said, a desperation in her voice that made him feel protective of her.

"It's okay," he said, using the same soft voice he'd used to reassure her earlier.

When she met his eye, he saw a resilience and determination there that told him she believed him.


End file.
